deangirl's MK Ultra - shows
by deangirl22
Summary: Superwho, LOST, Boardwalk Empire, The Tribe, Justified/The Black Donnellys - My collection of stillborn fanfics, that I found myself unable to discard over the years. One entry per story, descriptions inside. The OCs (Jocelyn, Jasabel, Elise, Karam and the twins) are mine, everyone else is not.
1. Superwho

**_SuperWho AU_** \- Jocelyn Barnes is a prophet, who has been fated to help the Doctor against the Apocalypse.

* * *

St. Mary's Orphanage was small in comparison to others in the region. It was made of dark bricks with a marble statue of the holy mother herself looming atop the roof. Not far from the doorstep sat a girl with dark locks of hair just reaching her shoulders, surely no older than seven years of age. Peach chalk dust rose up sprinkling itself on her uniform. Her delicate hands drew the gaunt face of the man with thick hair that consumed her mind. A forgotten notebook laid beside her, open to a page where a drawing of the stranger approaching, was clearly visible. Black hair hung closely around his thin face, a cane sprang out with each step he took, his suit jacket billowing out behind him. His name was Death and his shiny shoes came to a stop mere inches from the mural of a garden the girl had drawn. Amid the Garden were white blocks as markers for the angels that watched nervously overhead. His soulless eyes swept across the mural before swinging upward, a small scowl biting at his lips. The lord's firstborns were such nosy little brats.

The girl shook her long bangs out of her eyes as she gazed up at him. "Hello Death." She greeted with a smile. His eyes met hers but his head remained raised for a moment. "I told the angels not to worry, that you're just here to talk but.." she trailed off in a shrug, turning her attention to the chalk drawing.

Death studied her curiously. She was so indifferent to what he was. Then again she was a child and her innocence could easily be idiocy. His eyes glided to what she was working on before gluing onto her again. "Do you know who you are?" he asked, his empty voice echoed through the silent night.

The chalk paused in her small hand as she looked up. "I' m no one yet." she said simply.

"…Who is Jocelyn Barnes?" Death asked, clasping both hands atop his cane.

"Me...but not me yet." the little girl answered, focusing on her drawing.

"…And what else?" Death pressed.

Now she understood but still she didn't meet his gaze. "Escort to the Timelord." She said.

"The Doctor." Death mused.

"Mm-hmm.." she hummed. "It's why you're here. Poking," Her dark eyes hesitantly met his. "For your long lost son."

Emotionless as ever, Death was unmoved. "Tell me what you know."

"The Timelords were your version of children weren't they? But the Doctor had to blow them up..for the good of Earth…over there.." she waved her hand in place of 'another dimension' which wasn't quite in her vocabulary yet. A sad gleam coated her eyes as she looked down at the uncompleted chalk-drawing of the Doctor. "The Doctor's the last one left. What he did haunts him, but it fuels him to help others, no matter where they are or what they are."

A smile sprouted on her lips the same instant that a frown grew on Death's face. The end of his cane found the base of her chin and raised her head so he could get a good look at her. "You consider the Doctor a hero?" Death asked. With some difficulty, she nodded. Death studied her long and hard. "Don't." he said retracting his cane. Turning on his heel, Death began to walk away but the moment she blinked her eyes, he had disappeared.

* * *

 **20 years later**

Jocelyn sat cross-legged with her back against the structure, her hand flying across a new sheet of notebook paper. She was sketching two men, both with wavy hair but whose faces couldn't be more different.

When the earth began to shake, she paused her eyes searching the sky. Jocelyn slowly flipped to the previous page of her notebook. Suddenly there was a blinding flash and Jocelyn felt the structure she was leaning against crack. Blinking rapidly, Jocelyn staggered to her feet. Keeping one hand on the structure, she guided herself to its front, her fingertips tracing the crack.

That was when she first saw the Doctor, with his powder-blue dress-shirt and infamous bowtie, loose slacks held up by suspenders barely visible beneath his tweed jacket. His brilliant face was turned toward the sky, his mouth slightly ajar. "My what was that?" he wondered aloud.

"You just split open a hellgate." Jocelyn greeted.

The Doctor lowered his head then tilted it ever so slightly, as his blue eyes, deep and gleaming honed in on her. "…A hellgate?" he repeated. He fluffed his jacket. "This world has a gate to hell, goodie." He said to himself, though he moved closer to Jocelyn. "And what do they call you?" he asked.  
Leaning her back against the hellgate, Jocelyn held up her notebook, showing the Doctor the drawing of him which he leaned forward to examine. It was detailed sketch of him stepping out of the TARDIS. "Ah I see, an artist aye?" the Doctor mused. "We've met before?"

Jocelyn shook her head, flipping the book closed. "My name is Jocelyn Barnes. I'm a prophet."

"…A prophet you say?" The Doctor repeated.

"Mm-hmm." Jocelyn hummed.

"And you knew I'd be here?"

"Known for a while."

There was something of a frown biting at the corner of his lips as the Doctor gazed at Jocelyn. "Well Miss Barnes, I'm sorry to say, you got your details wrong." He said at last.

"….Excuse me?" Jocelyn replied.

The Doctor held an arm out behind him. "Do you see the TARDIS?" he asked.

Jocelyn looked around. "Um…no.." she admitted.

"Precisely." The Doctor replied. He raised his other arm up to the first one, then clapped. A purple policebox flickered into sight, the TARDIS. "I had the invisibility on." he explained thumbing at it.

Jocelyn stared at him in disbelief. "….You tart." She stammered, realizing he had poked fun at her drawing.

The Doctor closed the space between them. "Mm a prophet deadlocked on me but unresponsive to my humor." He mused, snatching the notebook out of Jocelyn's hands.

"Hey!" she protested while the Doctor wasted no time flipping through it. "Give it back." The instant her hands moved towards it the Doctor held it out of reach, his thumb planted against the page of the wavy-haired men.

"Who are they?" The Doctor asked pointing at the drawing.

"I'm not sure, your arrival interrupted my vision." Jocelyn said.

The Doctor looked at the drawing again, then handed the notebook back to Jocelyn. "My apologises, an unexpected arrival is usually how time travel goes. Usually…Prophet." The Doctor responded, a certain gleam coating his deep eyes as he moved past Jocelyn. "You mentioned a hellgate" he continued studying the structure behind them. It was a triangluar tomb made of concrete but in place of a doorknob there was a steel pentagram which had been split right down the middle. "Fascinating. Did my TARDIS do this? Of course it did, that burst of multi-colored light as I landed, makes sense now." The Doctor turned and faced the TARDIS. "You naughty girl." He told it before spinning to face Jocelyn again. "What was in this so called 'hellgate'? Surely I didn't just release hell…Just…tortured spirits? DEMONS, yes that must be it right?"

"You talk fast." Jocelyn noted.

This seemed to take the Doctor offguard. "I don't talk fast. You just don't talk!" he argued.

Jocelyn held her hand up dismissively. "Not demons. You Doctor, have just released the seven deadly sins." She informed.


	2. LOST

**_LOST_** \- Insight of an OC Other with close ties to Ben, Richard and Ethan.

Italics represent flashback.

* * *

A small breeze ruffled her dark hair, her blue eyes embedded in his brown ones. Whenever Jasabel was in Richard's company, she felt as if she were a cautious raven opposite a hawk who was ready to strike but willing to play first. The game of choice between Jasabel and Richard, was checkers, she the red pieces, he the black. It had been this way for some time.

"You seem different of late Jasabel." Richard stated, though the air with which he spoke it, hinted an inquiry.

Jasabel stifled a laugh. "That's a bit funny, coming from you Mr. Immortal." she retorted, making a move. Richard breathed the laugh, Jasabel had suffocated, taking two of her checkers then looking at her expectantly for an actual response. Jasabel traced the edge of the table thoughtfully. "It's just strange without Juliet." she explained in a half-truth. Richard continued to laugh, prompting Jasabel to add. "What?"

A smirk twisting on his lips, Richard merely eyed her a moment. "Forgive me, but it's not Juliet's company you miss." he said as Jasabel's hand jumped across the board.

* * *

 _A sixteen year-old Jasabel bound the starchy material around her knuckles multiple times, biting back a grin. For the first time she could recall, Ben was in attendance, standing beside Richard in the nook of the doorway. Jasabel's gaze shifted to Ethan standing a few feet from her, pacing like a lion ready to devour its meal. "Can I count on you not to be a show-off for the boss, Ethan?" she asked, flicking her braid past her shoulder._

 _The makings of a smile, made his face twitch. "I don't show off." Ethan replied evenly._

 _Jasabel squinted at him in a playful manner. "You lie." she accused, taking a defensive stance. Ethan's smile broke free._

* * *

Jasabel scrutinized Richard to the best of her ability. Judging from the upturn of his lips, he was amused by her effort. Jasabel exhaled in an effort to show a sign of weakness. She'd already lost the game, she always lost to Richard. "It's been nearly two months now since Ethan's death. I've talked myself hoarse with Harper. Believe it or not, I've made peace." she announced.

It took a moment for Richard to respond, merely blinking his long eyelashes at her. "You make a poor liar Bel." Richard finally informed, clearing the board.

"If I weren't do you think Ben would've entrusted me to babysit Alex?" Jasabel retorted.

"I suppose not." Ben greeted, startling her. "Hello Jasabel. I seem to have caught you at a good time. I'd like a word in private, if you don't mind." Ben didn't wait for a response, but as he turned around his gaze meshed with Richard.

Jasabel swallowed hard, having noticed the glance exchanged, brief though it was. Jasabel remained still, studying Richard's likewise immobile face. "Until next time Bel." Richard said, smiling as he got to his feet.

Jasabel nodded, muttering softly. "See you." Glancing over her shoulder at Ben's retreating back, Jasabel felt a memory wrap itself around her.

* * *

 _At twenty years old, Jasabel considered herself a master tracker. In the past, she had spent a lot of time trailing Richard to no avail. Tonight, she was determined to follow Ben to the inexplicable 'cabin'. However it was proving to be a trickier feat than she had anticipated. The further they trekked the more difficult it became for Jasabel to keep pace with Ben without compromising herself._

 _Ben had sensed Jasabel's looming presence long ago, but had strung her along in an effort to gauge her willpower. Finally, he stopped short and faced her. "I must say Jasabel, your commitment to a resolution is commendable." Ben announced as Jasabel tried to duck behind a shrub. "Shame you're not applying it to the assignment you were given. Why is that, what do you hope to accomplish by tailing me?" he pressed as a Jasabel sheepishly stood straight._

 _"You're going to see Jacob." Jasabel stated simply._

 _"I am. But unless you stop following me Jasabel, you and I will be walking in circles all night." Ben replied evenly. Jasabel immediately believed him, though she didn't know why._

 _"Beside you and Richard, will anyone ever be able to talk to Jacob?" Jasabel asked._

 _"That isn't for me to decide. I won't fault you for your curious nature Jasabel, it was the best trait your father possessed. Though Revere knew when to call it a night...were he alive, he'd be half-way to his home by now." Ben answered._

 _Silence crowded the massive gap between Ben and Jasabel, broken only by a particularly loud group of crickets. "..Goodnight Ben." Jasabel said, though the determined gleam hadn't faded from her eyes._

 _"Goodnight." Ben dismissed, with a ping of approval._

 _When Jasabel returned to the housing complex, she passed by Richard seated at a picnic table with a board of checkers alined in front of him. She paused, as she often did when she caught sight of Richard._

 _"Evening Bel. Would you like to play?" he offered._

 _"Don't you have something more important to do?" Jasabel asked with a beckoning laugh._

 _"Don't you?" Richard said, his knowledge of the answer shining clearly on his face._

* * *

His clear teal eyes bore into her blue ones. Ben knew he was stifling her with the weight of his stare, yet, like all women, she craved attention. Jasabel didn't desire it from him, but Ben acculturated her lonesomeness currently outweighed her unease. Ben forced a smile, and the corners of Jasabel's lips tweaked into a grimace. "Do you know why I wished to speak to you, Jasabel?" he asked.

"I haven't the faintest notion Ben." Jasabel responded truthfully. Her gaze shifted to the leather-bound book, situated beside Ben's arm. "This can't be about my journal...can it?"

"Why can't it?" Ben asked with a tilt of his head.

Prolonged interaction with Ben, always left Jasabel feeling parched. She wasn't sure if it was the vacancy of his eyes despite his vast intellect, or the natural wavering of his voice emitting from his emotionless mug. "I've done nothing to inspire you to snoop into my affairs." she said softly. "I do as I'm told when I'm told; I don't question, I don't disobey."

"True, you save such wonderment for your companion." Ben agreed, sliding her journal into his left palm and putting his glasses on with his free hand. "Though you've made great strides to remain unspecific. I daresay you even pride yourself on it."

"What is this about Ben?" Jasabel asked, trying to ignore her mounting anxiety. She didn't consider herself a meek person, but under Ben's scrutiny Jasabel felt two inches tall. Keeping his eyes trained on her a moment, Ben opened the journal then began to page through it. "...There's nothing that will interest you." she persisted, growing irritable.

"You underestimate your worth as a wordsmith, Jasabel." Ben argued, without raising his head. The silence that followed, made Jasabel's mind began to race to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Ben knew the exact page he wanted, but he drew out locating it. In truth, Ben considered Jasabel an encumbrance and thus enjoyed making her squirm. Clearing his throat, Ben began to read aloud. " 'I thought keeping this journal, carefully worded and scarcely detailed though it must be, would help. Keep me sane, keep time pushing forward even when it feels at a stand still. Perhaps that was only wishful thinking. Day in, day out, it's the same. I feel stir-crazy. I miss sparring with Ethan. Genuinely, I miss Ethan himself. I wish I could right the wrong that befell him. I often think of the missed opportunities of the past and the current ones presented to me almost on a daily basis."

Jasabel summoned her courage. "No." she interrupted, causing Ben to pause and peer up at her from his glasses.

"No what?" he questioned sportingly.

"No, I do not intend to take revenge on Charlie Pace or any of the survivors." Jasabel said stoically. "I was just rambling."

"Oh? Then you're going to have to explain this singular passage to me. 'I guess it didn't work.'.." Ben slowly set the journal down. "That same line shows up three separate times in your journal." he mused, pocketing his glasses. "You've had your rebellious moments in the past Jasabel, but you've never failed an assignment. No task, no matter how daunting. Your swiftness to adapt is part of what makes you invaluable Jasabel."

His compliment was a rouse, to get Jasabel to put her guard down. Knowing this, she flashed a brief smile and thanked him, prolonging her indecision. "...In a moment of weakness and temporary insanity, I had hoped to put a curse on Charlie." Jasabel confessed. Somehow, someway, Ben would've found out. It was even possible he already knew, and was merely testing her.

"How?" Ben asked, seemingly unsurprised.

"Charlie would tape up his fingers during his heroin withdrawl, as means of a distraction. When he was tempted to relapse, he started doing it again for a spell. I wrapped his discarded tape around a figure I crafted.."

"You made a voodoo doll."

Jasabel nodded and once again basking in how pitifully futile her attempt was, felt a smile tug at her lips. "I tried baking it in the microwave, tossing it in the waterfall, I even shot a damn arrow at it once. Nothing. I ended up tying a brick around it and throwing it in the ocean." she responded.

"That was a very unconventional mean to closure Jasabel." Ben stated.

"I know. I'm sorry Ben." Jasabel said

"Harper was under the impression that you had moved on. Should I tell her to re-evaluate you?" Ben responded, though he had already made up his mind not to.

"There's no need to do so ahead of schedule." Jasabel replied.

"Very well." Ben dismissed, sliding her journal to her side of the table. Jasabel opened her mouth to object but Ben continued. "It would be a mistake for you to stop writing Jasabel. It does you good. Speaking of, I may have a new assignment for you, perhaps it'll be a better fit for a restless soul such as yourself."

Weariness curtained Jasabel, but she struggled to keep her face unchanged. "What did you have in mind?" she asked.


	3. Boardwalk Empire

**_Boardwalk Empire_** \- Harrow discovers a scarred nurse looking for employment. Oneshot-ish.

* * *

The air was heavy with the weight of a dozen battered men, some worse off than others. Out of respect, Elise Hemingway strove to keep her gaze separate from them. Her scornful fingers slid beneath her coat sleeve to graze the eroded shrapnel scars her forearm bore. Goosebumps prickled to life beneath her stockings, in protest of the cold hallway she sat in. Elise's acute brown eyes peered at the reappearing nurses from beyond the safety of her gray low-hanging hat. Elise had been one of them once, during the war, the war that had left her riddled with scars from her abdomen up to her nose. The war had also made Elise a widower, and so, she had arrived at the hospital in the hopes of employment. The head doctor however, had taken one look at her notched jawline and swiftly carted her aside with the soldiers, to await mental evaluation. Elise had protested, but her objection fell upon deaf ears. So Elise sat, precisely where they had placed her, afraid if she rose to leave, a sudden interest would be afforded her.

* * *

Like Elise, Richard Harrow provided little attention to those surrounding him, devoting his focus to the novel he was reading instead. As time slowly ticked by, Harrow raised his gaze onto the sole woman amongst the soldiers, who had remained so still, she had simply faded into the wallpaper. Her honey-hued hair, barely visible beneath her grey hat, clung tightly against her cheekbones. Her delicate chin was flayed with various thin, deep scars that seemed to spread unevenly along her jaw. She kept her head ducked low, as if to hide her face. The natural chill of the hospital made her continuously clench her coat closer to her shivering frame.

With the twitch of a smile on his lips, Harrow rose from his seat, tucking his book beneath his arm, as he lifted his jacket from his lap. Harrow's metallic mask typically bore the brunt of the cold. Stepping slowly toward the blonde woman, Harrow hoped his appearance wouldn't frighten her.

* * *

Elise had noticed Harrow of course, but had tried her best to angle herself away from him, so as not to be tempted to stare. When he drew close to her, she angled herself further, staring pointedly at the floor.

"'xcuse me Miss." His voice was little more than a rasp, yet somehow the deepness his voice once held, could somehow still be heard. "Couldn't help noticing, you were shivering. Here."

Reluctantly, Elise peeked up at the man, as he offered her his jacket. He had glorious thick black hair, and the skin unhindered by the mask, was unblemished. He had been gorgeous once, and Elise was hapless to admit, he still was, even in his current state. A genuine smile fluttered on Elise's lips. It had been so long since she smiled, she had almost forgotten what it felt like. "Thank you sir." she told him softly, draping his jacket atop her thighs.. He smiled as much as he could, gave a little nod and proceeded to turn around. Spotting a nurse she recognized, a wave of panic struck Elise at the notion of being left alone, and she hurriedly blurted. "My name is Elise. Elise Hemingway.."

"Richard, Harrow." Harrow introduced.

"Well Mister Harrow, I don't suppose you're in need of a nurse? Or perhaps know of someone who is? I came here for a job, but...I should've known better.."

"Your husband, can't support you?"

"He's dead." Elise said stiffly.

"I'm, sorry." Harrow told her. "...I may, know someone."

* * *

"Her husband, was killed in the war. The hospital, won't take her. This would be, a personal favor, to me." Harrow told Jimmy.

Smoke bellowed from Jimmy's mouth, his blue-green eyes studying his friend with an almost curious glint. Jimmy snubbed his cigarette into the ashtray, his gaze straying onto the blonde sitting awkwardly at the counter of the brothel's bar. "Do you even know her at all?" he asked wearily.

"No, but I sense, she's a good person. She wouldn't, turn on us." Harrow answered.

"Oh you sense that huh?" Jimmy jeered goodheartedly, narrowing his eyes.

"At least, talk to her. Please." Harrow said. "Judge for yourself."

Jimmy repressed a sigh, but nodded. Separating from his friend, Jimmy approached Elise at a steady pace. "Miss Hemingway, I'm Jimmy Darmody. Pleased to meet you." he greeted, shaking her hand. The instant his hand clasped around hers, he felt an indented scar on the side of her palm. Jimmy perched his rear on the stool beside hers, without actually sitting down. "Harrow tell you about our line of work?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"No, but I don't need to know..." Elise replied.

"Why's that?" Jimmy pressed.

"If I don't find work soon, I'll be forced onto the streets. I need this job Mister Darmody. Your business is your own...I will not ask, and you need not say."

"What if you heard something from someone?"

Elise's lips creased into a frown. "Like a cop?"

"Sure, like a cop." Jimmy grilled.

"I would tell him, I am loyal to my employer, and my employer is a saint." Elise responded, her chocolate eyes staring deeply into the ocean orbitals of Jimmy.

Jimmy curled his lips to hide a smile, casting a backward glance at Harrow in confirmation. "First rule of business, Elise..." Jimmy began, pausing to whisk her hat from her head. Elise gasped, elongating her scarred jaw. "No hiding your face." Jimmy ordered. An exasperated exhale of air tutted from Elise's mouth, her dark eyes were hardened in disapproval, practically glaring at Jimmy. "Gimme your hand." he continued, holding his palm out accordingly. Elise complied, although the glower hadn't quite faded from her face. Jimmy led her hand against his scarred thigh, running her fingertips into his riveted flesh. "I'm fucked up too, alright? No more hiding your face." he told her sternly.

Elise recoiled before Jimmy had a chance to release her, but the haughty expression on her face had disappeared at last. "Any other rules?" she asked.

"Harrow and I may show up at your place of residence, without notice...wounded.." Jimmy answered.

"Am I to be paid only when you're wounded?"

"..No, course not. But when we are, I'll pay double."

"Then I have no objections, Mister Darmody." Else announced.

"One last rule." Jimmy said, holding a finger up for emphasis. "It's Jimmy, not Mister Darmody.." Jimmy waited until Elise nodded in acknowledgment, then Jimmy lighted a fresh cigarette, offered her one, which she refused, and Jimmy retreated to Harrow. "Walk 'er home. Memorize the address. Elise works for us now."

"Thank, you." Harrow said with a small bow of his head.

"Yeah." Jimmy murmured, patting his friend on the arm.

Harrow smiled, staring after his friend as Jimmy ascended the stairs to the bedrooms. He wasted no further time, in approaching Elise. "Ready, to leave?" he asked.

When Elise stood, she wrapped her arms around Harrow. "Thank you Mister Harrow." she whispered, hugging him tight. "I owe you."

The warmth of a woman's embrace, was still fairly foreign to Harrow. It was with reluctance, that he pulled away. ""You owe, me nothing, Miss." Harrow argued with a smile.

"No, I do. I no longer have anyone to cook for...please, join me for supper." Elise decided.


	4. The Tribe

**_Dark AU! Tribe_** \- Zoot survived the plunge to his death, but is severely injured. The reign of Power and Chaos! must continue even while Zoot recooperates - what better way to accomplish that, than by brainwashing his brother Bray?

* * *

Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, Karam perceived the girl staring back at her. Hazel eyes beset a porcelain face, dark brown hair flowed past her shoulders, save for a single braid the strands of which were dyed yellow and red. Her fingertip traced the thin scar stretching from the tip of her temple to the corner of her mouth, causing a smirk to twinge on her lips. It had just occurred to her, that a year or so had passed, since the scar had embellished her features, and Karam suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia lapping at her heart.

Despite the bedroom door being closed, Karam could hear the telltale approach of Zoot, due to the thudding of his steel bracers and the claws of their Grant Dane Bedlam, scratching the floor. Karam stood up from her desk, just as Bedlam plunged through the door, marching forward with Zoot grasping his collar for support. "Babe, how is my brother?" he greeted.

"Close, quite close I think.." Karam said, earning an instant scoff from her beau, as he waded deeper inside the room. "I'm aware it has taken months, but you know how stubborn Bray is." She continued, as Zoot hauled himself onto the bed.

"At this rate, I won't even need him." Zoot scowled, unbuckling his bracers while Bedlam sat at his side.

"Mecca's holograms can only accomplish so much." Karam responded, perching beside him and extending a hand to pet the dog. Zoot disapproved of her showing Bedlam any affection, but Karam figured it'd do no harm, since he was already annoyed. Bedlam withdrew from Karam's touch, strolling to the door and laying down in front of it, per usual. "You are near recovery but…"

"Do not tell me how I am Kar, I know my wellbeing better than you." Zoot interrupted, earning an accompanying grumble from Bedlam. Although he had suffered a shattered pelvis and broken both his legs, Zoot refused to dwell on his condition. Karam knew this well, but it didn't stop her from worrying, another aspect Zoot disapproved of. "You will devote this entire week to breaking in my brother, Ebony will act in your absence." Zoot informed.

Zoot's announcement was no revelation, to Karam, who had suspected such a thing would come to pass. "And if I fail to transform Bray, Ebony will keep my position." She assessed. The contacts Zoot wore yielded no emotion, and his face remained still as stone. "Will she take my place as your woman too?" Karam wondered softly.

"No one assumes that role but you….living or dead." Zoot responded coyly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. Zoot's reply may have held a double meaning, but it was also the most romantic thing he'd ever told Karam. She allowed her smile to shine a moment before disposing of it.

* * *

Two female Rottweilers, by the names of Turmoil and Disarray, stood guard for the bunker housing Bray. They had a little more personality than Bedlam; Disarray always wagged her tail when Karam approached such as now. Karam rested her hands on their heads as she moved past by them, her hazel eyes locking with Denarius, from his roost atop a bus. Denarius had been one of her tribe, before they converted to Zoot's Locos. Denarius was the same age as her with pale skin, black hair and striking blue-green eyes. He and his identical twin Demetrius took turns overseeing the watchdogs, and tending to the slaves including Bray in his exclusive bunker. Like Karam, the twins were American and she lovingly referred to them as Demetrie and Dennie, distinguishable by the placing and color of their polygon tribal paint – Demetrie wore green on his temple, Dennie wore blue on his cheeks.

Scratching a spot on her chin, Karam called up to Denarius. "How is he?"

Her attention was drawn downward to Demetrius, who appeared from behind a tree. "You mean you aren't positive of his progression?" he tsked. "Shouldn't let the others hear you ask that. They may tell Zoot you don't know what you're doing."

Karam smiled in an ugly way. "The others steer clear of you two….just as they would me if I weren't Zoot's woman." She replied tersely.

"Well at least she's aware of that." Denarius remarked teasingly.

Demetrius smirked before speaking. "You want my personal opinion Karam, I think Bray's ready…but seeing as all this was your idea, I understand wanting to be absolutely sure. Considering the probability of running into his tribe, there's a high risk of reversion. All this time and effort, not to mention resources, for naught…Zoot's reaction would be palpable." He summarized calmly.

Denarius sat down on the roof of the bus, hovering one leg free and pulling his other knee up to his chin, to perch his elbow on. "On the other hand, who's to say total conditioning, won't have ramifications?" he marveled.

"Assuming you succeed," Demetrius picked up, pacing around Karam. "What'll happen when Bray encounters Zoot? He may view Zoot as a threat, and try to eliminate him. If they are true equals, they'd cancel each other out…"

Karam's gaze flicked from twin to twin as she spoke. "If Zoot wants the transformation to be irreversible, it'll be so. Thanks for the concern."

The twins exchanged a glance, then Demetrius stepped away to open the bunker for Karam. The exact second the bunker door opened, the audio loop of Zoot could be heard. "The world is different now, only the strong survive. Either join me, or die….POWER AND CHAOS!" With a fleeting glance at the twins, Karam advanced down the stairs, holding a palm against the wall as she descended. It was dark inside the bunker, the only light radiated from the flashing images of Zoot being projected onto the walls and from the single lightbulb hanging alongside the mirror placed in the center of the room. There was a bed tucked in the corner and on it laid Bray, his back turned to Karam as she entered the threshold of the bunker. Bray's space, though crowded, contained everything he needed to be self-sufficient – a shelf of rations, a tin bucket for water and a change of wardrobe. In the opposite corner of the bed, shielded behind an enclosure of barbed wire and planks of wood, was the projection, resting atop the speaker. For the first month, Bray had damaged his palms quite badly in an attempt to sabotage Karam's tools of indoctrination.

One time Bray had freed a piece of wood from the enclosure at the expense of his arm, and knocked out Karam. He had gotten the jump on Demetrius but Bray's escape attempt had been thwarted by Disarray and Turmoil, who alerted Denarius. Had Karam been in Bray's shoes, she'd have broken the mirror and used a shard of it, against her capturers, but Bray was far too noble for such an endeavor.


	5. Justified Black Donnelys

**_Justified/Black Donnellys crossover_** \- Written under the guise that the man Raylan shot in the pilot, was actually Dokey. Joey Ice Cream approaches Raylan for help. Boyd trolls.

* * *

Nestled in a corner, sat a skinny man, nearly as skinny as Dickie Bennett with thick brows and dark spikey hair. His shoulders were slightly hunched as he nursed a pint of ale, his brown eyes continously straying onto Ava. That wasn't what bothered Boyd, plenty of men checked Ava out, at least until they realized she was Boyd's girl. What bothered Boyd, was the nervous engery the twenty-something was emitting. Boyd's theory was either he was newly freed from prison, or trying to remain free of it. Either way, the kid was twitchy and twitchy men in bars always led to trouble.

"..'scue me..." Boyd greeted, in his usual flat tone. His presence startled the stranger, who gazed up at Boyd blankly. "Somethin' I can help you with?"

"Um...maybe..." he replied, his accent marking him as a New Yorker. This intrigued Boyd further and he found himself, drawing out the chair opposite the out-of-towner. "..What brings you to Harlan stranger? I assume you're not just here to oogle Ava..."

The man's eyes flew from Boyd to Ava and back again. "...No...I mean yes, you're right." he stammered. "I'm Joey...friends call me Joey Ice Cream...nevermind that... I've kinda fallen into some trouble and I was hoping Raylan Givens would help me out."

Boyd cocked his head a bit. "He meetin' you here?"

"No but I heard he visits alot." Joey said, taking another sip of his ale.

"Now I'd never turn away business, but you do realize there are more direct ways to meet Rayaln." Boyd began. Joey nodded. "This 'trouble' of yours, has to do with the law?" Joey nodded again. "You're on the wrong side of it aren't ya?" Joey shrugged a bit and Boyd reclined in his seat. "Well then Joey, chances are Raylan's gonna 'help' you into a jailcell. Ain't that right Raylan?"

Joey whipped his head around, his sight gliding onto a six-foot man with a cowboy hat. "Could be." Raylan replied casually.

"Geez how long has he been standing there?" Joey breathed, with a wonderous glance at Boyd.

"Not long," Boyd said. "But you weren't wrong, he does frequent here." Boyd's gaze drifted from Joey onto Raylan. "Usually to remind me what a bad man I am, and to accuse me of things I haven't done."

" Now that's not always the case Boyd." Raylan argued, removing his hat with one hand and sliding a chair out to sit down with the other. "Tonight I genuinely just wanted a drink." he smirked, running a hand through his mane of brown and silver. "But it looks like that wasn't meant to be."

"Suppose not." Boyd agreed, though it was clear from the coating of indifference in his hazel eyes that he didn't believe Raylan had entered his bar for a social call. "Ava darlin'...bring Raylan his usual and a spot of whisky for me."

"Joey was it?" Raylan asked, shifting his weight as he re-adjusted his tie.

"Yes sir." Joey answered, which earned an exchanged look between Raylan and Boyd. "I'm a friend of the Donnellys."

"...Right..thought you looked familiar..." Raylan murmured as Ava delivered their drinks. "How are they?" he asked, closing his hand around the glass.

"Good. Great. Me? Not so much..." Joey began.

"Pardon me for interruptin'," Boyd interrupted as Ava retreated. "It appears I'm missin' somethin' - I wasn't aware you've had dealings with the Irish Raylan."

"Irish-American." Rayaln corrected, after downing his burbin. "Don't wanna get his racist dander up." Raylan murmured to Joey with a wink. Joey's eyes flicked onto the lettering on Boyd's knuckles. "Remember that man I plugged in Miami Boyd?"

"The one that landed you here."

"That's the one."

"What about 'im?"

"Bastard shot their mother."

"I see." Boyd said, turning his focus onto Joey. "The way you keep throwing their name around - the Donnellys - I take it they're...influnecial individuals."

Joey looked at Raylan for guidance, to which Raylan encouraged. "Go on, you can tell him. Tell him the whole thing if you'd like.."

"I grew up with the Donnellys. It was me, Tommy, Sean, Kevin and Jimmy. Jimmy's the oldest, Sean's the youngest, Tommy's the responsible one and Kevin..well Kevin's the middle child, if a middle child can exist in a set of four." Joey responded. "They run the neighborhood we grew up in now...you know what I mean be running it right?"

"I believe I do." Boyd replied, crossing his arms. "Seems something a Deputy Marshal might take note of." he continued with a curious glance at Raylan.

"They weren't running it when I dealt with them. Fact they were runayways then, looking to get revenge on the man who murdred their mother and ran 'em out of town." Raylan responded. "Seems me shooting Dokey did more than ease their grief." he added, with an accusatordy leer.

Joey didn't usually stammer, but something about these men with their hard eyes and heavy speech that weakened Joey's words. "...It...did...but that's not why I'm here...well it sorta is...it's all related you see..."

"No Joey I don't see." Raylan argued. "Frankly I have no idea why you're here. Tommy sent you to deliver blood money? That what brought you to Harlan?"

"Blood money? No we're not like that!" Joey replied aghast.

"Well I know you didn't come all the way down here to shake my hand and tell Boyd bedtime stories, so what is your reasoning?" Raylan responded.

As Joey stared at the man, staring him down, he felt unease mounting in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly he wasn't sure coming to Harlan had been such a good idea. Drawing in a deep breath, Joey sincerely said.. "...I need help Marshal...I'm in deep..."

"Before you continue Joey," Boyd interrupted again. "It does occur to me, that you may need help persuading Deputy Givens of your dilmea...before I can offer my support, I'd like to know what happened in Florida..."

"You know the basics." Raylan replied.

"Devil's in the details Raylan..." Boyd retorted.

The two studied each other for a long moment, during which Joey eyed them both and choked down the rest of his ale. His spluttering cough broke their staring contest, and Boyd mechincally reached out to smack Joey's back.

Reclining, Raylan waved Ava over to refill his glass. "I git it Boyd...I mentioned bedtime stories...and now you want one..." he smirked.

"Guilty as charged." Boyd agreed. "Hm must be nice to hear me admit to that for once huh?" he mused, causing Raylan to clench his jaw. With a nimble smirk, Boyd murmured. "Yeah I thought as much..."

"Tell me again why your nickname's Joey Ice Cream?" Raylan pressed. "Way I remember it, you stole ice cream from the eldest Donnelly when they were youngins, only to have someone else steal it from you... That about right?" Joey nodded. "Shoulda named you Joey Karma instead." Raylan added with a soft grin.

"Nah I'm not worthy of that, I lie too much. Erm...I didn't mean that, don't know why I said it." Joey rambled with sweat materalizing on his brow. Clearing his throat, he said. "I wouldn't lie to either of you, you might be able to help me. And I need help Marshal. That's no lie. That's honest-to-God, swear on my grandmother's grave, truth Raylan..."


End file.
